


Play the Hand You're Dealt

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi, Other, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justification and method.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play the Hand You're Dealt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erestor_and_fin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=erestor_and_fin), [scripts](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=scripts).



Glorfindel and Erestor had made a profession of presenting themselves in a decorous manner with socially exquisite conduct, no matter what company they kept or what conceivable situation was thrust upon them. Even in Mirkwood, even in the presence of the King.

A gong broke the general chaos of the hall. A loud-voiced crier bellowed, “Now appearing before the court on behalf of Elrond Peredhel: Chief Counselor Erestor and Captain Glorfindel, of Imladris.”

Erestor was resplendent in blue-tinged black robes, hair fastidiously pulled back from his face in delicate braids and held with a mithril and gold filigree fillet. His hands were gloved in the finest kidskin. His eyes were aloof and dark, gazing at the hall before him with cool indifference. He did not walk so much as glide down the steps.

And at his side was the Golden Captain, clad all in emerald green, but for a dark velvet pelisse at his shoulder and boots the color of new-churned mud. His wispy blonde hair waved behind him as he impressively strode the length of the hall, long legs carrying his tall, broad form in a loping gait.

From his perch upon the golden throne, Thranduil sat tall and proud and refused to be intimidated by the Imladrian pair of Lords, dark and bright, tall and mysterious, proud and knowing.

At Thranduil’s side, practically invisible beside the light of Thranduil’s dazzling and extraordinary presence, stood a shadowed form. It was an Elf, maybe, wrapped in scraps of worn and aging leather, stained with grease and mud. His hair was a gray bird’s nest, his eyes muddy and pale. He smile was a whip-crack sneer that cut his face in a diagonal line of disapproval. The insipid eyes, however, were only mischievous, and he huddled nearer the King.

He was Moose.

No one knew where Moose came from.

No one could quite remember when he had arrived, or what his true purpose was.

Moose was often seen close to the King’s side, or he would have been seen there had people bothered to look.

As it was, the glorious Imladris Elves did not appear the least bit intimidated by Thranduil’s very intimidating presence, and Moose leaned in to whisper to the King, “Watch out fur thems, yer Majesty . . . Thick as thieves, that lot.”

“Because they’re from Imladris?” Thranduil quietly questioned.

“Reason ‘nough, that is,” Moose agreed. “But nay; I’ve _heard_ things ‘bout them two, things what you should be careful abouts.”

“What things?” Thranduil asked.

But Moose did not answer, for the Elves were close now. And though Thranduil remained seated in the throne, he was still several heads taller than the Elves who stood at the base of the stairs to his pedestal.

Glorfindel and Erestor seemed to move as one. They bowed simultaneously. Erestor with his palms meeting before him as was the old way of the scholars, and Glorfindel in a decadent obeisance, his back leg bent at the knee, the forward one straight out with toe pointing at Thranduil, his arms sweeping the air to either side.

Neither Elf looked at the floor. Both intense gazes remained firmly fixed on Thranduil’s handsome face.

Thranduil nodded in turn, his own glance flickering between the two Elves. “Lord Erestor. Sir Glorfindel. It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Greenwood. Too long have relations between our realms remained stunted and distant. I embrace this opportunity to reunite our cultures and our people, and -- hopefully -- our good graces.”

Erestor took one step forward and answered. “As an ambassador of Imladris, representative of my Lord Elrond, and on behalf of our people, I appreciate your sentiment, and -- indeed -- return it. May this be a new beginning of peace between my home, and your kingdom.”

He retreated, and Glorfindel took his turn: “I support our Chief Counselor’s statement and also accept your gracious welcome, your Highness. I know I may speak for Imladris’ militia and guards when I say we look forward to the possibility of an apprenticeship exchange, and the many skills which may be shared among us.”

“Yes,” Thranduil responded noncommittally. “Well, until the time for duties and compromises arrives, you are welcome to dine with us tonight, and revel with the rest of the hall. All our doors are open to you.”

Both Elves nodded their thanks. Glorfindel still refused to look away, but Erestor’s gaze shifted, and the Counselor inquired, “Who is this?”

Rather taken aback, Thranduil glanced at Moose, who exchanged a look with the King. Fighting not to stumble over his words, Thranduil declared, “This is Moose, a traveler and guest in my realm. He serves as some entertainment for me and pretends to be my advisor. Which is well, since I only pretend to listen.” Thranduil’s smile came nowhere near his leaf-green eyes.

Bowing again, the Imladrian visitors withdrew from the greeting area, and a nearby servant led them to their places of honor at the long tables, for it was late already and dinner was prepared.

Thranduil was the last to sit, taking his place in the regal chair at the high end of the longest tables that actually sloped down the length of the hall, which had been carved on an incline from the very root of the mountain, so that Thranduil still remained the tallest and highest person among them.

Erestor and Glorfindel had been settled a little ways down from the King, near enough so that they might converse, but far enough so that the pair might whisper together.

Moose, unseen or unregarded by most in the hall, was roosting upon a short, rickety stool at Thranduil’s elbow. He did not eat, but only crouched there like a wild animal, pale eyes observing the hall from his perch.

Glorfindel and Erestor were courteous to all who addressed them, and capably conducted themselves with gentlemanly benevolence and courtly behavior. But when no other engaged them, they bent their heads together to share secret whispers and serious looks.

Thranduil saw this, and wondered, but did not risk speaking of it in the presence of so many of his own court. But, when Moose leaned in, and began to whisper, Thranduil attentively listened.

“Your firs’ meeting with em is tomorrow, eh?”

“That’s right.”

“I know jus’ how much you love advice, so’s I’m gonna give ya some. . . . Don’t you let yourself alone with them two. It ain’t wise.”

Thranduil nodded, but said nothing. That was twice that Moose had warned him about the Imladrian pair, and Thranduil wanted to know why.

= = = = =

Over the course of the evening, dinner became dessert, and a few people departed. Then the music started and the dancing began. After the song was done and the musicians went their way, those who were left remained to hear stories and tell old tales or new ones, and share stories that were silly or of great importance. Glorfindel and Erestor neither spoke nor danced. But they did not leave for their rooms either.

Moose, as was common, did not announce his exit, and Thranduil did not notice he was gone until the King found himself -- still at the head of his table -- alone, but for two Elves. Moose’s warning rang in his head.

Erestor and Glorfindel ceased their final whispers and stood, only to reseat themselves side-by-side to Thranduil’s right.

Thranduil glared and sat up straighter.

Glorfindel emitted a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “Oh. Untouchable hero complex. Yeah. I’m pretty familiar with that. Calling yourself ‘king’ doesn’t help, you know.”

Thranduil was completely dumbfounded.

“You know,” Erestor told Glorfindel conversationally, “He IS more handsome when he’s not actually saying anything. And, I was right: he’s speechless, not yelling at you. Pay up.”

Grumbling, Glorfindel reached into his pocket and removed a silver coin. He flipped it up with a *ping* and Erestor grabbed it out of the air stylishly.

“So,” Erestor addressed Thranduil once more, as he pocketed the coin. “Wanna play poker?”

“Play? What?” Thranduil could feel his brain working, trying to comprehend the situation.

“Poker,” Glorfindel said, holding up a deck. “I’ve got cards.”

Erestor shook his head pityingly. “I do not think he’s the wit for poker, Glorfindel. Look at that face; he can’t hide a thing. No, I think we should go straight to the sex.”

“Well, if that’s what you think,” Glorfindel sighed, putting away his deck of cards.

“Sex?” Thranduil asked. “What?”

Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a look. “Thranduil,” Erestor addressed him flatly. “It’s clear to us that you, like our own Lord, have a great many burdens and worries. As a leader and a monarch, your duties are beyond count and your responsibilities greater than anyone should have. When is the last time you took the opportunity to forget all that for a little while?”

“Forget?”

“As I thought,” Erestor continued. “You can’t simply wrap yourself in your work and your fancy clothes and high titles and think you’ll be safe and content. The Elven soul does not work that way, Thranduil. You must remember to relax when you bathe, instead of considering it a chore, to actually taste what you eat instead of thinking of it as a waste of time. And,” he finished, “When is the last time you had sex?”

“Sex?”

Glorfindel had braced his elbow on the table and flopped his head into his hand, watching the exchange. Now, he spoke slurringly, “That’s it, Erestor. We’ve fried his brain. He only speaks in monosyllables now. Great.”

“Shut up,” Erestor hissed at him. Then, to Thranduil, “Well, my Lord?”

“Sex?” Thranduil repeated.

“Yes,” Erestor grumbled flatly. “That thing that people do.”

“Long now has my wife been dead . . .”

“Very long,” Erestor agreed. “And I am sure you still mourn her, and I’m sure she was a lovely woman and a good queen and a caring mother. But there is little she can do to comfort you now. And you should not feel ashamed to take a lover, to -- Valar forbid -- fall in love again. The least you may do is let us lie with you tonight. I assure you, we won’t tell a soul, and we can take away all those worries for a while.”

Temptation beat like a heart somewhere in the back of Thranduil’s throat. But, “You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t I look it?”

True, Erestor did look quite serious. He went on, “Through long and arduous experimentation, we have discovered that the quickest, easiest, and most powerful Cure for loneliness is sex.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, and from our many years of experience and wisdom, and our keen observation, we have officially Diagnosed you as lonely.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and furthermore Prescribed a rigorous regimen of sexual intercourse.”

“So you’re doctors now?”

“By no means,” Erestor continued. “We are merely Healers of the Heart.”

Thranduil could practically hear the capitalization. “Well, I don’t need ‘Healing’.”

“Oh pish-posh. Don’t lie to us; you CAN’T lie to us.”

As an aside to Erestor, Glorfindel cut in, “You’re right: he would be hopeless at poker.”

Erestor smiled faintly and went on, “You can say ‘no’ all you like, your eyes betray you, as does your body. . . . No need to look so positively affronted. Your palms are sweating and you’re hunching. And your lips are parted, which is VERY attractive, by the way. You want us simply because we were kind enough to offer, and you’re also rather taken by our mystery, self-confidence, and beauty. . . . Like I said, we’ve been around for a while. We know these things.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Glorfindel grinned. “Because we’re charming.”

Thranduil jumped as a foot ran up and down his leg.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor chastised, “Stop that.”

“I thought we were gonna seduce him?”

“Later. In the bedroom. First, we must make our intentions plain.”

“Good point,” Thranduil informed them. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we want to,” Erestor continued to explain. “Don’t you?”

Thranduil did not answer, saying instead: “But you have each other.”

Erestor rolled his eyes and Glorfindel grumbled unintelligibly.

“Please,” the Counselor said, “we’re hardly soul mates.”

“Are you kidding?” Glorfindel added. “Could you imagine being stuck with this one for the rest of your life?” A jerk of the blonde head indicated Erestor, who glared.

“I thought . . .”

“Wrong,” Erestor finished Thranduil’s observation. “You thought wrong. Now, we have explained our intentions. And our logic, which is more than most people get. You should feel lucky. Come now. You are lonely, and we are here. What more do you need?”

“Good point,” Glorfindel supported. “That’s justification and method; what more do you need?”

Thranduil rose to his feet. His leaf-green eyes looked down at the pair. He sighed. And finally told them, “Resolution. Will you come with me to my chambers?”

“Gladly.”

= = = = =

The end.


End file.
